Chapter 10 - The Calculation Of Blood And Steel
The air in the warehouse grew so dense with tension that every breath felt like inhaling shards of broken glass.
Marcus remained pinned behind his concrete pillar across the room, his submachine gun raised and tracking Viktor’s secondary guards, waiting for a single micro-second opening to unleash a barrage of retaliatory fire.
I kept my hand resting over the emergency lockdown interface on my laptop, my eyes darting rapidly between Viktor’s finger on the trigger and Dante’s steady, calculating stance.
I knew Dante Marino never negotiated with blackmailers, and I knew better than anyone that sentimentality was a luxury he reserved strictly for ghosts—not for cowardly, double-crossing captains who compromised operational security.
“Go ahead,” Dante said calmly, his voice echoing with absolute chilling indifference as he raised his rifle back up toward Viktor’s chest.
“Shoot him.”
Sal’s eyes widened to the size of saucers in sheer, unadulterated disbelief, his mouth opening in a silent, paralyzed scream of absolute betrayal.
“No, wait, Mr. Marino—!”
Viktor blinked, momentarily thrown off balance by Dante’s absolute lack of hesitation or concern for his captive captain.
“You don't care if your own loyal man dies right here?” Viktor demanded, his grip faltering for a split second as confusion rippled through his ruthless facade.
“He wasn't loyal, Viktor; he was a liability,” Dante stated coldly, his finger squeezing the trigger with effortless precision.
Before Viktor could pull his own trigger to execute Sal, Dante’s suppressed rifle barked once—a clean, supersonic crack that pierced straight through Viktor’s shoulder, forcing the Russian boss to violently stumble backward and drop his weapon.
Instantly, Marcus unleashed a devastating wall of suppressive fire from across the warehouse, cutting down Viktor’s secondary guards before they could even raise their barrels to retaliate.
Sal scrambled frantically across the floor like a terrified animal, diving headfirst behind a stack of empty pallets while clutching his bleeding shoulder and weeping uncontrollably.
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Viktor snarled in rage, clutching his mangled shoulder with his left hand while desperately reaching for a backup pistol tucked inside his tactical vest.
“Kill them all!” Viktor roared to his remaining operatives, blood pouring freely between his fingers as chaos erupted once again beneath the flickering fluorescent lights.
